


Dallas Variant, The

by thebasement_archivist



Category: The X-Files
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2002-06-26
Updated: 2002-06-26
Packaged: 2018-11-20 08:30:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,628
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11332146
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thebasement_archivist/pseuds/thebasement_archivist
Summary: Note from alice ttlg, the archivist: this story was originally archived atThe Basement, which moved to the AO3 to ensure the stories are always available and so that authors may have complete control of their own works. To preserve the archive, I began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in June 2017. I e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address onThe Basement's collection profile.





	Dallas Variant, The

**Author's Note:**

> Note from alice ttlg, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [The Basement](http://fanlore.org/wiki/The_Basement), which moved to the AO3 to ensure the stories are always available and so that authors may have complete control of their own works. To preserve the archive, I began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in June 2017. I e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on [The Basement's collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/thebasement/profile).

Dallas Variant, The

## Dallas Variant, The

#### by Kashmir

Subject: [slashingmulder] FIC: The Dallas Variant M/K (1/1) Date: Friday, June 14, 2002 5:58 PM 

TITLE: The Dallas Variant  
AUTHOR: Kashmir ()  
ARCHIVE: Just let me know where.  
SPOILERS: From Season 2 to the final episode. RATING: R for language and some m/m interaction. THANK YOU: Much thanks to Wildy for offering to beta for the new girl.  
AUTHOR'S NOTE: Written for The Cube's May 2002 'Exit' Challenge. The challenge was to write what you think should happen right before the credits roll for the last time. It was written prior to seeing the series finale.  
DISCLAIMER: Alex Krycek, Fox Mulder and all things X-Files belong to Chris Carter, 1013 Productions, and Fox Television. No copyright infringement intended. 

* * *

Va"ri*ant, a. [L. varians, p. pr. of variare to change: cf. F. variant. See Vary.] 1. Varying in from, character, or the like; variable; different; diverse. 2. Changeable; changing; fickle. [Obs.] 

Retribution Southfork style. 

* * *

"It's time to WAKE UP WASHINGTON! Get up! Get outta bed! Get up and get your stinky self into that shower! Here's a little somethin' from the Ace of Base to motivate your bad self..." 

**WHAM**

Ewwww... Ace of Base. 

Owwwww... my head. 

Must stop the pounding. Must avoid the light. Where? Under the pillow? Yes! Soft, cool, quiet under the pillow. 

What the hell did I set the alarm for anyway? It's not like I have anything to get up for. My case was declared a mistrial for inconclusive evidence, so no more orange jumpsuits for me. 

Friends? Mostly dead. Family? All dead. Career? Also dead. 

The few friends I have left I don't particularly want to see right now. 

Scully. Where do I begin? She gave away her kid. Just gave it away, after jumping through all those hoops to have it in the first place. I should probably be more upset about this, but since the kid is actually Skinner's and not mine, I will just settle for miffed. I mean, buy a clue here: the insemination fails, then she gets pregnant weeks later, and the kid is supposedly mine? Don't think so. Of course, I wasn't there to enlighten anyone either. 

Oh well, once the adoptive parents discover the kid is genetically programmed to never grow hair I'm sure they will give him right back. 

It's probably for the best. I sure wasn't going to suddenly become "daddy" to anyone. I would laugh at the thought of marrying Scully, but that would make my head start pounding again. 

I wonder if my water supply is being drugged again. It's the only thing I can think of that would cause my brains to attempt escape through my ears. 

I think something furry crawled into my mouth and died. Horribly. 

As soon as I regain the ability to stand it's definitely time to go back to hiding. Or as I have been referring to it, my well deserved vacation. Lying on a beach in the Bahamas with nothing on but a smile has done wonders for my mental health. Kind of lonely, though. 

The ironic thing is that my vacation would have been restricted to the laundry room if not for the inheritance set aside for me by the man I thought was my father. He was such a cold fish to me all those years that I was stunned by the generosity. 

Which reminds me of the reason my father no longer needs the money. 

If I could only go a few fucking minutes without thinking of him. If I could just stop thinking of "what if". There are more if's where he is concerned. No more anything. I need to accept that. 

If I could just stop thinking that I could have done something, said something, right from the start. Maybe he would have had a choice. Maybe we would've had a future that held something besides aliens and amputations. 

I always told myself that he got what he deserved. That he was nothing to me. That I never really wanted him at all. 

I lie to myself a lot. 

Damn Skinner. If he would have just let him explain instead of shooting him like a dog. He wasn't even making any sense. I guess Krycek had a limit after all, a spot where crazy takes it from there. No wonder really. The stress he must have been under for years. 

I wish he'd felt he had a use for me as more than a pawn in his double-crossing games. I wish he would have thought of me at all. Like I thought of, think of, him. I wish.... 

What the...? What is that? 

The pipes only rattle like that when the shower is running. Apparently the new Consortium thugs are obsessed with cleanliness. Maybe, if I ask nicely, this one will shoot me in the head and take care of this fucking headache. 

Okay, coming out from under the pillow was definitely a mistake. There is no way I am in my old apartment with all of my stuff in it, exactly where I had it last. I know for a fact that all of my belongings in a storage unit on 3rd Street, gathering even more dust than they did here. 

Is this some new mind fuck? Why the hell am I even worth the trouble to them? They aren't planning to ever leave me alone, apparently. 

Fine. Time for some unlucky bastard to pay. 

Good thing they were going for realistic when they redecorated: my backup .38 is in the closet where I always kept it. Gives me the creeps when I think of how much they have on me, that they can put everything back where it was before. 

It is hard to be stealthy when your head feels like it's about to fall off and roll away, but the guy doesn't seem particularly worried about waking me. Sounds like he's humming something. 

The theme to "I Dream of Jeannie"? Freak. 

Okay, you've done this before, use the "don't even fuck with me" voice, reach for the curtain. 

1... 2... 3... 

**"FREEZE!"**

Oh. 

"Fox! Dammit! You scared the shit outta me!" 

My. 

"Very kinky, but we don't have time to play "cops and robbers" this morning. We have that 9 o'clock meeting I've been reminding you of all weekend." 

God. 

"Fox? Hello? Either get in or close the curtain. You're getting water all over the place." 

Alex Krycek. Alive and in my shower. Alive. Alex Krycek. In my shower. Alive. And naked. And in my shower. My shower. Wet, naked, soapy Alex Krycek. 

He seems to think he belongs there--he levels a scowl at me that says I am a very bad boy, then snaps the shower curtain closed. 

Huh. 

Apparently, I have gone completely insane. 

Good. 

"I'm surprised you're in such a playful mood. I would have bet money you were gonna have the mother of all hangovers this morning. I know you were celebrating, but tequila and champagne don't mix. Ever. Are you still out there?" 

Oh, yeah, that would be my cue. What the hell did I want to know? Oh, okay, got it. 

"What the fuck are you doing in my shower, Krycek?" 

And, while I'm at it, what are you doing out of the ground, breathing, on this planet? 

"Ummm... let me think.... It probably has something to do with the fact that I live here. Stupid." 

I see. So that's how we're going to play it. Not so thinly-veiled sarcasm in exchange for valid questions. And no, he does not live here. Why, just look around. 

A bottle of cologne that isn't my brand. Towels in colors I would have never chosen neatly hung on the towel rack. Two toothbrushes in the cup by the sink. 

An elaborate hoax to drive me to the crazy house. That's what it is. 

A heavy sigh arises from behind the steam and the frosted shower curtain. 

Krycek peels back the curtain once more, seeming unsurprised to see me still leveling the gun at his head. 

"You're not still pissed about Walter's cousin at the reception, are you? He tripped. That's how his head got in my lap. There was nothing else to it. Of course there was no telling you that at the time, you had drank enough for ten. And it looks like you are feeling it this morning." 

"Thank God for Dana, although I don't think it was fair for her to pull you off one of her own guests. She could have wrinkled her dress." 

I am going to knock that smart-ass grin off his mug. Really, I am. Just as soon as my motor skills return. Any minute now. 

"Get your butt in here and I will wash your hair. Give you a nice scalp massage. That'll fix you right up, baby." 

Krycek disappears back behind the curtain and steam again. I take a moment to ponder my choices. 

  1. Run around the apartment screaming like a little girl. 2. Shoot Krycek, then run around the apartment screaming like a little girl. 3. Get into the shower and let Alex Krycek wash my hair. 



Hmmmm. I have to say for as much as I like 2, I am also curious about 3. Helping with my decision is the fact that my headache--hangover--is so bad now even my hair hurts. 

And there is the fact that I have been secretly dreaming of this very thing happening almost from the very moment I met Alex, I mean Krycek. 

No, I mean Alex. 

And if, under this delusion schemed up by some Consortium goon, we are into taking showers together, then I am going to use the fact to my full advantage. Until his eyes go murky and black or he bleeds green, he's mine. 

I take as deep a fortifying breath as I can muster in my condition, pull back the curtain, and step in. 

Oh, wow. That ass is pure poetry. Firm, yet it looks extremely squeezable. You could bounce quarters off of that ass. Oh, the things you, the things I, could do to that ass.... 

"Um, Fox, that's real cute and all, but you should probably take your boxers off, and your gun is going to get all rusty. You really aren't feeling well, are you? Poor thing. That leftover Moo-Shu Pork you scarfed down last night can't be doing you any favors either." 

I have a new rule. From now on, no one says the word "pork". Ever. 

"Thanks for bringing that up. I just hope I can keep it down." 

He laughs at that. Such a nice laugh. I don't think I have ever heard it before. It follows me as I step out to do as he asks, and all of a sudden it hits me. Two arms. He has two arms. How the hell did he get his arm back? 

I duck back into the spray, grab his left arm, and give it a thorough examination. 

"This is different. Are we doing seduction by new body parts? It's not really doing much for me, to tell you the truth." 

His hair is longer too. Definitely pre stupid-ass haircut. In fact, he looks much younger, less lines around his eyes. Put on a few pounds, not that he looks worse for it. Gotta be a clone, doesn't he? Better ask. 

"Are you a clone?" 

He favors me with another laugh and a dazzling grin. "What did I just say about sex games? Tonight, I'll be your little sex-bot or whatever you want." Alex gives me the once over with a naughty gleam in his eyes. "Now turn around and assume the position." 

I spin around and put my hands on the tiles. Okay, could have done that slower and with less enthusiasm. Oh well, too late now. He chuckles. 

"On second thought, you should be my little sex-bot. I've already trained you so nicely." 

Smug bastard. It's a good thing he's doing that incredibly fantastic thing to my scalp. Those long, strong fingers are pure heaven. All ten of them. How the hell is this even possible? 

I don't care, not at all. If this is the way it's going to be, that's fine with me. This is the way it was meant to be, just being with him. This is right. 

"That's better, isn't it," he croons from somewhere near my left ear, "you have been so stressed since that whole Duane Barry debacle. That was months ago baby, you need to let it go. That guy isn't getting out of the psychiatric hospital for a long, long time." 

Wait, what? Months ago? Months? I summon the will to dislodge his fingers and turn around. I have to see his face. 

"Months ago? Don't you mean years? What the hell are you trying to pull here, Krycek?" 

His face reveals nothing but concern, with just a tinge of exasperation. "Well, technically, last year, but since it's only February, and he was arrested in November... did you hit your head trying to crawl into bed last night or something?" 

He carefully prods my scalp again, this time looking for bumps or dents. He really needs to stop doing that or I may stop caring what the date is. One way to be sure. I duck out from under his hands, back out of the shower, and grab a towel. What the hell color is this anyway? Puce? 

Exiting the bathroom, not heeding the dismayed calls to come back and get the shampoo out of my hair before it gets in my eyes and I go blind, I start digging through the disaster that is my desk. Calendar, calendar... here it is--February 5th, 1995. Okay, easy to fake. Date on the computer--February 5th, 1995. Also easily faked. But why bother? Why do I even want to fight this? 

It's 1995. Scully was never abducted and is now happily married to Skinner. I'm not alone anymore. Alex is my partner, friend, and lover. And if he was going to defect to the Consortium he would have done it by now. Could it all have been one big bad dream fueled by alcohol and leftover Chinese food? Seems implausible, but let's face it, at this point I'm not going to be a hard sell. 

Feeling hands on my shoulders, two warm soft hands, I turn to meet Alex's concerned gaze. 

"Find what you were looking for in here?" 

"Yes, as a matter of fact, I did." He is still giving me a look like he is trying to assess brain damage. 

"Sorry about ditching you in the shower there. Let me make it up to you." I reach for the towel around his hips, only to be stopped by his hand around my wrist. 

"Later, loverboy. Meeting, remember? And you still have shampoo in your hair." The attempt to get under his towel seems to have reassured him that I am still all there. "What was that whole scene in the shower about anyway?" 

"I had a really, really bad dream. But it's over now. And everything is fine." 

He strokes my face with his fingertips. "Want to tell me about it?" 

"Sometime, maybe. Gotta go get this shampoo out of my hair. We have a meeting, remember?" 

"Yes, I vaguely recall something about that." He takes me by the hand, leading me back to the shower. We stop. He yanks the towel from around my waist, tossing it on the counter. As he takes me in his arms I feel his lips softly brush my ear as he whispers 

"Good morning." 

-end- 

* * *

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